Only in the End
by Scout-n-Demond
Summary: After a typical world meeting, the nations wake up in a not so typical situation. Waking up in a seemingly abandoned facility, surrounded by what appears to be the walking dead, they must now fight for survival. While doing their best to survive, they must also figure out what has happened all around the world, without losing themselves in the process.
1. Chapter 1

It was dark, extremely dark. That was the first thought that crossed England's mind as he awoke. Not only was the area dark, but it was damp, and completely _silent_. He expected to hear at least some drops of water plopping to the ground, yet there was absolutely nothing. Pure silence, the kind that was desolate enough to make your ears ring in that never ending drone of theirs. Just where the hell was he?

Now that he thought about it, the blond nation couldn't even remember what he had been doing before blacking out. Had he been drinking? That was the only explanation he could come up with, especially since his head seemed to be killing him. It was a blessing that the place he was in was so dark, as he was certain that his current migraine would cause any light to drive him to tears.

But back to the issue at hand. He couldn't have possibly been drinking before ending up here. He had promised himself he would stay away from the liquor until the latest world meetings were finished up with for the week! Were his impulses really so strong that he couldn't avoid drinking for at least a week?

_Maybe I should go see someone about that,_ he pondered momentarily.

Actually, now that he thought about it, the last thing he really remembered before ending up here was being at a world meeting. America had been trying to convince all of the other nations that he would find a way to repay all of his debt soon, not that anyone had believed a word he'd said. The man was so far in debt that he mine as well just let it bury him alive.

So then how the bloody hell had England managed to blackout? He usually remembered at least going to a bar, but that meeting was the only thing he could remember, no matter how hard he thought about it. Well, he couldn't let it bother him now. All he needed to worry about was figuring out where in the world he had managed to get himself lost in.

Slowly, he picked himself up from the ground. His head felt as though it would split itself open any moment, and he had to lean against a nearby wall as his stomach began to churn. He sat a few moments against the damp wall, not caring that his clothes were soaking up much of the water.

Eventually, he felt the brunt of his nausea disappear, and he allowed himself to sit up straight against his crutch of a wall. The blond nation sat for a few moments, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Of course, that wasn't exactly going well; the place was simply too damn dark. England would give anything just to know where he was.

Then the world was no longer silent. The area did not explode with any sort of noise, no. It was just a very faint shuffling. Even though it was faint, it still seemed quite loud in what was once an abyss of quietness. What exactly was that shuffling? Had England gotten himself acquainted with some other drunks while he was off getting wasted? It didn't matter. He just hoped that the man shuffling towards him was in a coherent state of mind. And that he knew just where he was, unlike the blond nation.

England's eyes adjusted to the darkness just enough so that he could make out a large entryway in front of him. It appeared that he was in some sort of small room the size of a jail cell. Now he wasn't even going to let his hung-over mind dwell on that one. All he needed to do was get his sorry ass out of that cell so he could confront his (most likely) hung-over acquaintance.

Unfortunately, just walking the few feet out of the damp cell caused the nation's stomach to churn once again, and this time he really did puke the few contents of his stomach onto the ground. Considering the dark, damp state of the place he was in, he doubted anyone would care too much. Then again, the rancid stench really did come close to bringing tears to his eyes. It was enough to force him into a gagging fit.

The sound of the person shuffling closer was what helped England to force down the bile working its way up his throat again. He looked up in the direction the person was coming from. He couldn't focus his eyes very long, as sweat was quickly falling into his eyes, and he was pretty out of breath in the first place.

Before retching at the ground yet again, he did at least manage to locate the outline of the person shambling across a dark corner. The shambling man was coming ever closer to England, who swore he had to get his act together before the person could make out just how undignified he was being.

_Hold it back, you git!_ England yelled at himself, trying to cut back the nausea yet again. The smell of his own bile was certainly not helping at all. _Oh, screw making a mockery of yourself! _he finally decided.

"Hey," he managed to spit out. God, he certainly sounded pathetic, "you over there. You mind giving me a hand here?"

The person did not reply. Well, unless you consider a groan to be a reply. This person definitely had to be hung-over. Or maybe even drunk, as England felt that he himself had yet to groan despite his condition.

"Come on—" another moment of violent retching from the nation, "Sorry, I…" and he emptied the last of his stomach's contents. The stench of bile was even worse. As he continued retching over the ground, he felt his legs give way and his knees land right in the middle of most of it. The thought of it made the retching even worse, and still the shambling man only made his groaning sounds.

_I really need to get out of here,_ England thought, completely out of breath. _This stench is going to be the death of me._

As much as he would have liked it, he really doubted that he would be able to stand again without another fit of violent retching. He shifted off of his knees and sat back, making a light splash from the damp ground underneath him.

Sweating profusely and utterly out of breath, England tried once more to address the shambling man, who was now only a few yards from his position.

"Sir, could you tell me where I am right now?"

No reply. More grunting and groaning. Still shambling closer. What was with this person? Drunk. That had to be it. The person had to be so drunk off his ass that England's words simply were not registering with him. Then again, England wasn't very sure that he liked how this person was acting. Drunk or not, this person could very easily be some sort of danger to him, especially in the nation's current condition.

So England attempted to stand yet again. It took him a few moments, and he was pretty certain that he had put his hand in his own bile multiple times, but he managed to get back up.

He glanced back at the shambling man's dark outline, now quite close to his position, and started to walk in the opposite direction.

"I-I think I'll be leaving now," he muttered to the man behind him. He didn't get very far before the person behind him screeched out and collided with his back.

England yelped before throwing the man off. "What the hell, you bloody wanker!" he yelled.

As the man continued with his garbled screeching, he began to rise once more. Then it finally hit England that maybe this wasn't the best place to be at the moment. He kicked the man in the head as hard as his nauseated state would let him before taking off down the dark hallway.

The man's garble soon sounded more enraged than anything, and the blond nation could hear him shuffle his way off the ground. Then the shuffling became hurried, as if the person had started running after him. Panicking, England took the first turn in the dark hallway that he could make out. He didn't care where he was anymore; he just had to get away from that man.

The turn in the hallway didn't get him very far though, as he immediately collided with another person.

"Sorry, but I need you to—" England began in near hysteria, but the person he had collided with would have none of it.

The newcomer quickly grabbed onto England's arms as hard as they could, and the nation's panic nearly went through the roof.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with all of you?!" he yelled, trying to push the person off of him, to no avail.

The new person was trying to pull themselves closer to England, despite his pushing and complaining. Through all of his adrenaline and fear, he vaguely wondered how the person would react to him puking on them. Too bad he was pretty certain he was out of bile for the day. If he did begin to retch again, it would be just that; retching.

"Hey! Get down!" a voice from behind his assailant yelled. England barely even registered it. He could feel himself getting lightheaded, and soon he felt himself dropping under the weight of the person holding onto him. The last thing he could really hear before blacking out was an extremely loud blast.

The noise probably would have been enough to throw him into yet another nauseous fit if he weren't already fainting.

* * *

"Yo, dude. You okay?" A pause. "C'mon, man! Wake up already!"

"Quiet down! We aren't in exactly the safest place right now!"

"Don't blame me! He won't wake up!"

"That doesn't give you an excuse to be so loud! What if more of those hideous creatures hear you? We don't really have ammo to be wasting on them!"

"Fine, man, whatever."

That was what England woke up to, lying on the damp ground, soaked from head to toe in water. At least the cool touch of it all was helping his migraine and nausea. Well, until a flashlight shown in his eyes.

With an audible gasp, the nation turned over and began retching once more. His head once again felt as though it was ready to split wide open.

"Hey, it worked! He's awake, man!" One of the voices exclaimed. Now that England was fully awake, the sound drilled right into his head.

Already, he was sweating and out of breath. "K-keep it down, you stupid git."

"Hey, you sound better already!" No, the voice refused to get quieter.

"You look like crap, just to be frank, England," the other voice piped up, as though being loud just to spite him.

"I hate you both, you wankers." He allowed himself to glance over at them, only to be blinded by the flashlight once more. "Could you stop shining that on me already?"

"Of course not! You know how much I enjoy watching you when you're in such a pathetic state!" the second voice replied.

England finally sat up and slouched against the wall behind him. He covered his eyes, but allowed himself to see the two in front of him to some extent.

"America, can't you take that damn thing away from him?" he nearly sighed.

"Oh come on, France, shine it somewhere else. He won't stop complaining otherwise," America finally relented. Besides him, France rolled his eyes and moved the flashlight off to the side. America gave England the same old grin as always. "That better?"

"Yeah, sure. What the bloody hell is going on?" England demanded, getting straight to the point.

America scratched the back of his head with his free hand. England quickly noticed the shotgun he was wielding in his other. "Well, uh, we don't really know, to be honest," he admitted, "I mean, we kind of woke up here and stuff. We were really sick too at first, but not as bad as you. I think."

"Well, we certainly didn't go running around puking all over ourselves and fainting like you." France added.

"Just get to the point!" England yelled impatiently.

America looked aghast, "But I already told you that we don't know what's going on!"

Besides him, France pinched the bridge of his nose, "Obviously, there is a zombie apocalypse going on."

England just stared at him. "What."

"Don't look at us like that!" America nearly shouted, making England wince once more, "It's true! There're zombies everywhere!"

"What exactly do you think was trying to eat you alive when we found you?" France questioned.

England thought about it for a moment. They had to just be fooling around with him. Now, had he been the only one to have seen these "zombies", he would have believed in their existence right away, but this was France and America. Neither of them ever saw anything "imaginary" like that. America would be more inclined to believe in the existence of zombies, sure, but _France_? Maybe France was just trying to throw him for a loop. He and America happened to come across England's hung-over ass being attacked by some drunk, and France thought it would be funny to tell him it was a zombie that attacked him. That had to be it.

"Stop acting like a sodding idiot, you asshole," England muttered.

France nearly laughed, "Monsieur! Of course you would be the one not to believe in the zombie apocalypse! Why is that, you suppose?"

"Because this information is coming from you. Now maybe if I was hearing this from Norway or Romania I would believe it, but I currently refuse to believe anything you tell me right now."

"Come on, Iggy!" America shouted, "Don't be like that! You really think we would just shoot some guy like that unless we had a reason?"

Glancing over to where America was gesturing, England noticed a body. The head was blown off, and the rest of it looked pretty much ready to fall apart on its own.

He sighed, allowing himself to go along with their shenanigans for just awhile. "Fine. Just tell me where we are."

"Yeah, we don't know the answer to that either," America replied, still grinning like a complete moron.

Again, France gave a much better answer, "It appears that we are in some sort of prison facility. I very drab one at that, too. My clothes are pretty much soaked and ruined by the filth here!"

Indeed, France's "superior designer clothing" looked as though it had seen better days. England wasn't exactly fairing any better though, with his suit coat missing and his pants, shirt, and tie completely soaked and covered in grime. Somehow, America's plain t-shirt and jeans had survived better than either France or England's fancier clothes.

"But yeah, we were seeing if we could find our way up, cause we're pretty much underground right now," America continued.

"What do you mean?" England inquired.

"Well, me and France found a map while running around earlier, and apparently we were in the third basement of this place. We found some stairs and now we're like, on the second basement I think."

He still was having a hard time wrapping his head around this issue. They were in a prison facility, at least two stories underground, apparently surrounded by zombies? While he tried to continue processing this new information, a gun was thrust into his face.

"Wha—"

"Just take it," France demanded.

England grabbed the M16 assault rifle from the Frenchman's grasp, looking at it confusedly. When he looked up at France, he held up his own MP5 submachine gun.

"As much as I hate to say it, I don't think we need you dying on us. If you want to live, you've got to have a gun on you. We don't really know if melee weapons work on the zombies," France clarified.

England was just flabbergasted, "Where did you guys get all of this artillery?"

"In a storage room on B3! France said we should grab an extra gun in case we lost one!" America answered helpfully.

France threw a small black bag onto England's lap. "Here, take this too. Neither America or I really feel like holding it."

As his nausea was finally dying down, England was able to open up the small bag easily. He noticed that it was a few essential first aid supplies.

"Neither of you want to carry around first aid supplies?" he asked.

"Well, it's in a fanny pack, man! That's completely embarrassing!" America admitted.

England would have slammed his face against the wall at that moment if it weren't for his migraine. He immediately sat up and slipped the bag around his waist. He didn't know about his current company, but he would much rather have some first aid handy if there was an actual zombie apocalypse occurring.

America stood up and looked around him in the dark facility hallway. "Anyways, we should get going, right? I want to find this place's exit real soon and see if the rest of the world has been zombified!"

France sighed, but got up as well. He held out a hand for England. Though he was initially distrustful of his longtime enemy, he relented and let France help him up. This really didn't seem like the moment to let pastimes get in the way of survival. Well, at least until he felt a hand plant itself squarely on his ass.

"You really never change, do you, git!" England yelled, punching France square in the face.

"Well," France started lightly, backing up from his fellow nation, "at least I know you still hit like a girl."

* * *

Of course, there was activity brewing even lower within the facility than from where France and America had awoken. This activity included three more nations fighting for their lives on the fourth basement floor.

"Italy! What do you think you're doing?!" a gruff German voice exclaimed, "Stop running and shoot these things with us!"

Gunshots went off all throughout the corridor, numerous corpses falling along with them. There was one fairly erratic beam of light flying around all over the place, but it was enough to help see the fall of the decaying bodies. Well, it was enough until it started to follow a certain Italian in his retreat.

"What? Romano! What is wrong with you Italians?! Get back here!" Germany yelled, glancing at the hoard before him, then back to his retreating companions. Making up his mind, he threw his luger back into its holster before following after them. There was no use staying behind to shoot at some zombies if the person with the flashlight was taking off down a pitch black corridor with his brother.

_Why am I stuck with the Italy brothers? Why? Why not Japan? Even Prussia would be better than these two! Prussia wouldn't know when to _stop_ fighting!_ Germany yelled at himself, mentally despising his current situation, lamenting the fact that he _always_ got stuck with Italy.

Of course, usually Japan was there to keep him sane, but now he was stuck with _Romano_ of all people. Romano and Italy. In a pitch black prison facility. Full of zombies. And Romano had the flashlight. This day just kept getting better and better.

_Someone shoot me. Being back at home with Austria nagging at me would be better than this, _he mentally groaned. At least keeping up with the Italy brothers was easy enough. Romano apparently had no idea how to hold the flashlight still, but it helped Germany keep track of the guy.

He soon noticed Italy wrenching open a door nearby and zooming into it, quickly followed by his brother. Not wanting to be left alone in a dark abyss, Germany immediately reached the door and threw himself inside the room, slamming the door shut behind him. The first thing he did upon entering the room was check the handle and doorframe for a lock. He was unable to locate one, so he remained leaning against the door, hoping that he might be able to barricade it himself if any zombies tried to break in.

The small beam of Romano's flashlight shown onto his younger brother, who was bent over panting, trying his best to catch his breath. Romano then glanced over in Germany's direction, the light following his line of sight. The older Italian made a disgusted face at his current companion before addressing him.

"Hey, potato bastard! Did we lose those things?"

Germany remained silent, unable to voice his rage at the Italy brothers. Sure, he could sit and yell at the two, but he was certain that none of his yelling would make very much sense in his current state of enragement. Then again, it didn't take much to scare the two Italy brothers senseless, and they never really listened to what he had to say anyways.

Unfortunately, Romano was not going to allow silence from his fellow nation, "Are you deaf? I asked you if we lost them, you moron!"

"They're still coming!" Germany finally relented, the sudden noise causing both Italy brothers to jump, and Italy himself to whimper. "Now unless you want them to come banging on this door, I suggest you stay quiet!"

That was enough to get the older Italy brother to shut up, although the younger brother continued to whimper. Germany was also pretty certain that he heard Romano mutter something along the lines of, "You're the one making all the damn noise", but he let it slide.

Once all was said and done, the Germanic nation was finally able to take a good look at the room he and his current companions had locked themselves up in. It was definitely a storage room. It seemed that Romano was also checking the place out, as his flashlight was shining all around the small area.

Upon closer inspection, Germany noticed that the shelves around the small room were packed with food. A lot of the food also looked like it needed to be cooked. So did that mean there was a kitchen around this particular area? The information itself didn't help the three nations with escaping, but Germany thought it would be a good idea to have an understanding of their environment.

Outside the storage room, he could hear some moans and thumping as the so-called "zombies" passed by, searching for their prey. At one point it sounded almost as though one of them had just run right by the place. Could zombies run like that? Germany doubted it. When he tried listening for any more sounds of running, he could only get moaning and shambling. Ignoring it, he filed the incident as a hallucination due to stress.

Once the hoard retreated far enough away, Germany would see if he could get his useless companions out of the storage room. They needed to find an exit to this place, and running and hiding the entire time would get them nowhere.

A few more minutes passed by. Germany still leaned against the storage room's door, and both of the Italy brothers sat upon the floor. It seemed that Italy had finally gotten a hold of himself, as his erratic breathing had died down.

Despite how cool Romano had been trying to act earlier, it was obvious that he was still scared. Fortunately, it seemed he could hold his flashlight still, which was a huge improvement from how it had been swinging around before. The older brother held the flashlight loosely in his hands, the beam pointing down in the middle of the room.

Italy finally looked up at Germany for the first time since the group's run-in with the zombie hoard.

"Germany?" he began.

The nation in question jumped. It had been silent for at most five minutes, but those had been five incredibly long minutes. The fear that the zombie hoard might return and break down the storage room door was pretty high.

Germany quickly recomposed himself and looked down at his ally. "Yes, Italy?"

Italy fidgeted a little. "Are the zombies gone yet?"

"They passed the room a while ago, but I don't know whether or not they're still in the area," Germany replied.

"That's bullshit!" Romano exclaimed. The flashlight's beam was thrust into Germany's face as the southern part of Italy continued his short rant. "You saw how infested this place was! There's probably way more out there! It's not safe anywhere!"

Italy began to shake as his brother finished. He looked back up at Germany once more. "But Germany, you'll protect us, right? You know how to handle this kind of stuff, don't you?"

Once again, Germany was at a loss for words. Just why did Italy expect him to know anything about zombies? Italy had been over to Germany's house numerous times, and he was pretty certain that he had never dealt with any zombies before.

"Italy, I've never seen a zombie in my life, and I know that you haven't either," the nation finally replied.

The younger Italy brother got up to his feet and approached the taller nation. "Germany! What are you saying? You know how to handle this! You showed me that zombie video game you made that one day, remember?"

"What are you talking about? I've never made a zombie game before!" Now Germany was just confused.

Romano pulled on Italy's sleeve, apparently too lazy to stand up. "Veneziano, that was Japan who showed us that.

Realization struck Italy's face, and immediately the nation began to panic once more. "Oh no! That _was_ Japan! What are we going to do?!" He faced Germany again, not letting his panic die down. "Germany! We need to find Japan! He'll know what to do! He's handled stuff like this before! Quick! We need to leave! If we can find Japan, he'll help us, and you can protect me, and we'll all be okay! I don't want to die here! I can't!"

Before the rest of the situation could get out of hand, Germany forcefully grabbed Italy by the shoulders. The nation immediately went silent.

"We will be leaving this room, we'll be searching for an exit, and on the way we will search for Japan and anyone else. Until then, you need to calm down. Do you understand me?" Italy nodded. "Good. Now while we are out there, you need to remain quiet. From what we've seen, zombies are attracted to sound. Also, remember that gun I handed you earlier?" Italy nodded once more. "Instead of running, I want you to actually use it. Aim for the zombies' heads. I've found that that takes them out quicker. Only run when I tell you to run. I can't have us getting split up due to your cowardice. Getting split up will get you killed. Do you understand?"

Italy nodded a final time. "Yes, Germany, I understand."

He backed up from Germany and gave him a salute. As usual, the salute was wrong, but at the moment Germany couldn't bring himself to care. Italy was listening and understanding, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

AN: Hello there! Thanks for finishing chapter one of this story! This is my first ever fanfic, so I apologize for the bumpy writing. The later chapters for this have been going much smoother, so don't fret if you want to continue this! I'm sorry if these people are horribly OOC, by the way. If you find their characterizations completely wrong, please tell me and I'll do my best to fix the problem. The same goes for the rest of the story. And yes, the idea of "zombie apocalypse" is really cliché, but I just wanted to try something out. So this story is pretty much just an experiment to practice my writing with. Also, the story will be switching between many different POVs throughout it, so don't expect everything to be about England and Germany. I just found it easier to start off with those two for some reason. England is ridiculously hard to characterize by the way...I probably won't be writing in his POV again any time soon. Sorry, England fans. There's not really any one main character in this, as I like giving everyone equal amounts of screen time. So don't worry if someone you like hasn't had a part in this story yet! Again, thanks for reading this! I'll do my best to improve on this over time!


	2. Chapter 2

_Why does it have to be so dark in this place? Why does it have to be so wet? I don't really mind it that much, but it makes walking around this place really difficult!_

America continued to complain to himself. As much as he hated to admit it, he truly loathed this situation. Sure, he was the fun loving adventure type. He was always the one to run out and look for excitement, but this was not exciting. This was just scary.

He had always been easily terrified. Everyone could see it. How many times had he called Japan or England over to his house because he was too scared to sleep at night, simply because he had watched some stupid horror movie? America, as optimistic and heroic as he was, was truly terrified at the moment.

With a shotgun by his side, he felt a bit more at ease. He could blast away any opposition that came across him. He could do it pretty quickly too, if he had to brag. The young nation felt that he was more than prepared to handle a zombie apocalypse. He had the strength, the skill, the leadership qualities; but he lacked the bravery. Everything he had been showing off to France and England since their reunion had been nothing but bravado.

The blond nation knew that he couldn't leave the bravery part up to his companions. Someone had to be a leader—a hero—and that person had to be him. America knew he had the best leadership qualities out of any other nation, and he had to show the others just how well he could protect them all. What hero would he be if he couldn't even keep his own fear in check?

Had it not been for him, England probably wouldn't have been standing very well at the moment. That zombie would have torn right into him, and America couldn't even fathom how that would have turned out. Would England have even lived through that? Just how would zombies affect nations?

These were of course questions that he had no answers to. How could he? None of those video games he played with Japan ever portrayed nations being affected. The existence of nations was fairly low key, so of course games would never be able to portray scenes like that. Aside from video games, the only _movies_ America had ever seen about zombies had been movies he himself had made.

He vaguely wondered how England's opinions on those movies had changed since this entire incident began. Maybe he wouldn't be so quick to criticize and discredit them after this.

But, he had to keep focus! He couldn't become distracted by thoughts like that. If he wanted to ensure survival among his fellow nations, he had to be on alert. Again, who else would do it if not him?

France was obviously off in his own little world. He always was; America could tell. Any time he and France had come across a zombie or two, the Frenchman would immediately complain about how his outfit was being ruined, or how bad the zombies themselves smelled. This was a zombie apocalypse! Leaders couldn't allow themselves to be distracted by their clothes or the stench of putrid death. Or the stench of England's puke for that matter, and that stuff did smell absolutely terrible.

No! America was a true leader. He had to keep telling himself that. As a true leader he could not be scared. As a true leader he could not become distracted. As a true leader he had to know the right decisions to make. As a true leader he needed to be smart! Was the blond nation any of these things? He would have liked to believe so, but he knew that his current companions would blatantly tell him that no, he was not any of those things. They would tell him that he was delusional, and that he needed to start getting serious about their situation.

The whole issue here was that America _was_ being serious. He was being more serious than he felt he had any right to be. All of those years of zombie movies, all of those years of zombie games; they were preparing him for this very moment. Now, more than ever, America needed to prove himself. He needed to show France and England just what he was capable of as a leader.

These thoughts continued to invade the nation's head. Penetrating his every idea and action to the point where some might say that he was completely obsessed. Maybe he _was_ obsessed about it, but the point was that he knew it would take his guidance to help his companions and himself to the facility's exit. If they were lucky, they might even be able to discover the cause of the so-called zombie apocalypse, and why they were in the facility in the first place. But before any of that could be accomplished, there were some issues that needed to be attended to.

"What do you mean it's blocked off?" America questioned.

"I meant exactly what I said. It's blocked off," England deadpanned. He gestured at the caved-in doorway as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Beside England stood France, who let out a soft but familiar laugh. America would never admit it, but he had to agree with everyone who thought the man's laugh was the most annoying thing in the world.

"Monsieur America, have you gone blind?" the Frenchman asked, following England's lead and shining his flashlight beam into the doorway, emphasizing the destruction that lay in its wake.

England responded by shoving the older man's arm down, resulting in France nearly dropping said flashlight.

"Stop shining that thing everywhere, you git. It's not exactly helping my migraine."

France threw a hand to his heart, mock gasping and over exaggerating his every movement. "Now, England. Just because you're a skinny little wimp does not mean that you have the right to bring the rest of us down."

Thus, the two nations escalated into yet another one of their arguments, leaving America to take charge.

He looked over the rubble blocking the doorway the three were standing in front of. Yes, it was certainly caved-in, and it seemed that there wasn't anything they could do about it either. So what would they do now? The three of them had traversed all through B2 of the facility, and now here they were on B1. Just where on B1 were they? Well, they were at the stairwell leading up to the first floor of the facility. That stairwell was blocked, as England had so eloquently put it before.

Blocked. Their only escape. Blocked. Caved-in. Rubble everywhere.

Hell, there were even support beams trapped between the concrete and, (for lack of better words), boulders of fallen ceiling. How inconvenient was that? How was that even possible? Did the zombies know how to create bombs? Had the zombies blown up their only means of escape?!

No, that was ridiculous. America could realize that without even conveying his ideas to England or France. So that added even more questions to the current mystery. How had the three nations ended up in this facility? Why had they all woken up feeling so ill? Were there other nations still in the facility? How had the zombie apocalypse begun? Why was the stairwell to F1 so inconveniently blocked off?

These questions would have to wait until later. America had more pressing issues at hand. There were some shuffling noises approaching from a corner to his left.

"Hey, you two. I think some more of those creeps are coming by. Maybe we should move on?" America inquired.

His fellow nations broke themselves from their heated debate about nothing in particular, and took notice of America's suggestion. The looks on their faces told America all that he needed to know, as it was obvious they heard the incoming zombies as well.

The two "enemies" glanced at each other before agreeing to a temporary truce, finally following America as he began to wander in the opposite direction of their company.

"Well America, since we're going to ignore that staircase entirely," France began, "just what do you propose we do about escaping?"

The addressed nation responded with bright optimism, "Well, we just check out the lower floors, right? Maybe there's like an elevator or something down there."

The three took a corner on the right and passed a few more storage rooms. A thorough look of the place revealed that the entirety of B1 was destroyed, causing various areas of it to be inaccessible. Despite this, the area was surprisingly dry compared to how damp B2 had been. It was even a fair bit brighter up on B1, though the three couldn't explain why. Maybe it was just their vision finally adjusting to the complete darkness that engulfed the entire facility. Either way, they all could agree that the conditions of B1 were much more preferable than those of B2 or, (in America and France's cases), B3.

Needless to say, none of the nations really had any hope that they would find a form of escape. If anything, they would just be at a higher risk for injury and, though they loathed to even consider the possibility, death. In the end, they knew that they would probably end up attempting to move the rubble blocking the B1 stairwell. That would also probably result in severe injury, but they had to escape somehow. Until then, they would just traverse the lower levels as America had suggested.

If both France and England had relented and agreed on the idea without a fight, then it was at least worth a try.

* * *

Back on B4, things still weren't fairing very well. In fact, the trio that had hid in the storage room earlier had made next to no progress since they had taken their leave. Just what was it that they had been doing? Well, Germany certainly had no idea.

At first, he had been wandering around the expanse level of B4 with Romano and Italy hanging close behind him, and their progress had been decent at best. Then Romano swore that he thought someone was nearby. Italy asked if it was a zombie. Romano said that no, it was someone alive. Germany asked how he could have possibly known that. Romano replied that he just knew. Italy then decided that they _had_ to find this mysterious survivor.

So much for their attempts at escaping. It seemed almost as though the brothers' need to find this person had overridden any fear they once had. Italy had been near tears earlier in the storage room! The man had been completely terrified of their situation. Now he didn't seem to have a care in the world, and was happily prancing around the dark, damp facility with his older brother.

If Germany didn't watch it, the two of them were going to run off and get themselves killed. Sure, they were bad company. They were not the first two people you would want with you in case of a zombie apocalypse. In fact, you wouldn't want them with you period. They were still better than nothing. Germany would not let himself live with the fact that he got Italy (or even his brother) killed.

So here he was, babysitting the two as they ran around in complete naïveté. They weren't so naïve before when they were running from that first zombie hoard. Maybe now they forgot that zombies inhabited this entire facility. Germany certainly wouldn't put it past the two of them. It could have been some strange case of selective naïveté or something like that. The younger nation had never heard of something like that before, but he didn't doubt that the Italy brothers could pull it off.

Lost in his musings, Germany momentarily lost track of the two brothers, and of course that was enough time for something to go completely wrong. Italy's sudden familiar scream snapped Germany out of his thoughts, and he immediately ran to where he had heard his fellow nation.

Once he arrived on scene, he noticed that the two were back at a line of prison cells. Most of the cells appeared either rusted, locked, or simply left wide open. Italy and Romano were hanging around at the end of the hallway.

"What's going on? Italy, are you okay?!" Germany yelled as he approached the two.

Then Romano was gone. The nation had lunged into the open cell the two had been staring into. This couldn't possibly mean anything good.

"Romano!" the Germanic nation exclaimed.

Instead, Italy turned to look at his approaching companion. "Oh, Germany! Check it out! We found big brother Spain! He jumped out at us and scared me!"

The nation was so cheery that it was painful. How did he go from being so terrified to cheery and oblivious? Figuring that he would never understand his longtime ally, he peeked into the open cell to figure out what Romano was up to.

He found the nation, and as Italy mentioned, Spain was there as well. Romano was standing pretty close to him, as Spain relayed just how worried he had been about his former charge. Looking at Romano, it was obvious he was excited to see the older nation, despite the attempts he was making to come off as uncaring.

"Spain?" the Germanic nation finally managed to spit out.

"¡Hola, señor Alemania! ¿Comó estás? ¡Me preocupé por tú!"

The nation in question had to sit and process just what the hell Spain had said. What possessed him to speak in his own language like that? He knew that not all of his acquaintances completely understood Spanish like him. The guy was always so cheery and oblivious. Perhaps the Italy brothers got that from him? Then again, Italy had grown up with Austria, so that would only make sense for Romano. Still, Germany had to wonder sometimes. Or all of the time. Then he decided that it would be better for his mental health just not to wonder about his fellow nations. They were all insane and incompetent. That was certainly it. He was the only sane man in a world of crazy nations.

"Spain," Germany finally began to reply, "I'm fine. What are you doing hanging out in that cell?"

The epitome of cheerfulness seemed as though he just realized where he was, and looked around before answering.

"Well, señor, I was trying to avoid the living dead! What else would I be doing?" Through the dim shine of Romano's flashlight, Spain could be seen grinning. "I woke up in this cell, so I figured I mine as well stay in this area until someone happened to show up!"

"That's…that's awfully optimistic of you," was all Germany could say in reply.

Romano glared over at Germany from the sanctity of his longtime caregiver, "Hey, we found him, didn't we?" Germany sighed, but the older Italy brother took it as reluctant acknowledgment. "Yeah, you potato bastard. You know I'm right!"

Spain just laughed, completely misreading the situation as always. "Oh, Romano! You're still just as cute as ever!" He put his hand on top of the younger nation's head and began to ruffle his hair. At this, Romano became quite flustered, immediately shutting up and blushing. He continued to give Germany the same glare as always, trying to ignore the unwanted attention from Spain.

Italy finally decided to speak up at that moment. "So, now that we've found big brother Spain, we can finally leave this place, ve~!"

Separating his gaze from the glare of Spain's southern Italy, the Germanic nation took a good look at his own Italy. He was still quite optimistic it seemed.

"Yes, Italy, we can finally leave this place." _Or we can attempt to,_ a thought which Germany kept to himself.

"No way, not yet!" Spain intervened. "I'm pretty certain I heard Austria while I was running around. I haven't been able to locate him yet, but we should find him before we escape this place."

_You've got to be kidding me_, was the next thought that Germany decided to keep to himself. "I thought you said you were just hanging out in this area until someone happened to walk by," he mentioned.

"Well, yeah! But I've also been looking for Austria. I heard him maybe only fifteen minutes ago!" Though Germany thought it wasn't possible, Spain's grin grew even wider as he patted Romano on the back. The southern part of Italy apparently decided that he had had enough of Spain's treatment, and finally retreated to his younger brother's side. Spain kept grinning. He was simply too cheerful. It hurt Germany's very soul to even think about always being so happy.

"So, big brother Spain, where did you hear mister Austria?" Italy questioned.

Spain gestured over to the doors at the end of the hallway, opposite from the side where Germany, Italy, and Romano had happened to find the _cheerful_ nation. "It's over there, compadres! I was checking out some office rooms that are in the section, and I'm pretty certain I heard the guy complaining when a zombie hoard ran by. What's with those zombies anyways? They're everywhere!"

The nation had changed subjects just like that, and Germany was honestly quite surprised. That was something he would have expected from Poland or Italy. Maybe Spain was a bit tenser than he was letting on. Germany knew that Spain did often try to hide his true feelings from others, but he did let his stress show through in subtle ways. He probably didn't even realize that he let it show like that. Instead of pointing the abrupt subject change out, he tactfully chose to go along with it.

"We don't know much about what's going on," Germany began. "We mine as well just go search for Austria and get out of here. While we're trying to escape, we can keep a look out for anything that might help us figure out this situation."

The nations around him agreed. Spain turned around and grabbed a sniper rifle from the back of his prison cell.

"Spain? What the hell are you doing with that thing?" Romano blurted out, not expecting his former caretaker to have pulled out an M21.

"This?" Spain asked, holding up the rifle, "I found it over in those office areas! It was in one of the private offices." He held the rifle in his hands, though he didn't gaze at the weapon too fondly.

Once again, Germany wasn't too sure of what he should make of the situation. Spain seemed to be quite the enigma, even next to Italy and Romano. It was very possible that Spain wasn't too thrilled at the idea of shooting zombies. They were people, and Germany knew that the cheerful nation was much more comfortable at home throwing siestas than being out killing. He would be slaying zombies of course, but Germany bet that Spain still viewed them as people.

There was definitely more to Spain than the nation was letting on. Germany could see that from the short minutes that he had spent with the man. How could he still try to be so cheerful if he was truly hurting on the inside? To someone as intuitive as the Germanic nation, Spain's inner dilemma was quite obvious once the time was taken to actually peer into his feelings.

Most people probably wouldn't have seen through Spain's façade though, as the man was an impenetrable wall of happiness and optimism. Behind the huge smile on the man's face, there was a bit of sadness and stress. It appeared only minimal, but to those who took the time to search, it could have been much more immense than those emerald green eyes were letting on.

Again, the best thing to do was to let everything go for now. The group was now tasked with the mission of finding _Austria_.

_I brought this upon myself, I know it. I should have never said I preferred Austria's company over running around with Italy and Romano._ A horrifying thought struck Germany in the middle of his internal rant. _Oh god, I'll be stuck with Italy, Romano, _and_ Austria!_ He immediately threw a hand to his face. This day was just getting worse and worse.

Italy ran ahead of his three companions, bursting through the double iron doors at the end of the hallway of prison cells. One moment and a loud scream later, he came running back, taking cover behind Germany. Some zombies shambled into the hallway after Italy's mad rush, and Romano followed his younger brother's lead and quickly planted himself behind Spain. Apparently it was much safer hiding behind the two larger nations.

Once more, Germany found himself sighing at the antics of the Italy brothers. Spain might have had some hidden depths to him, but if there were any to Italy and Romano, they were hiding them much better than Spain ever would.

The luger in Germany's holster quickly came out, and three of the zombies fell at once. Two shots from Spain's rifle caused the other two to follow in their fellow zombies' leads.

Once all was said and done, the Germanic nation turned to the Italy brother hiding behind him.

"Italy, do you remember what I told you back at the storage room?" Germany sighed, holstering his gun once more. He glanced at the blood splattering the walls and floor. Why did zombies still bleed if they were the living dead? Why was he randomly thinking about this now?

The addressed nation looked down at his feet, avoiding eye contact with the much larger nation. "You wanted me to shoot zombies, I think."

"You weren't listening, were you?!" Germany yelled.

"No, Germany! I'm sorry! Don't strangle me! I'll listen better next time! I promise!" Italy practically begged before his ally could even move.

As always, Romano threw a glare Germany's way. It was enough to calm the blond nation down, at least.

"No, Italy, that's fine." He glanced over at Spain, who was checking out the area beyond the double iron doors. Despite this, he still addressed Italy, "Just stick with me. I'll protect you." He looked back at Italy, who was sheepishly looking back up. "Just promise me you won't run off and get in trouble."

"You'll really protect me?" Italy questioned, his voice filled with hope.

Germany heard a quick "bullshit" muttered by Romano, and internally he groaned. He thought that Italy would have gotten it through his thick head already that _yes,_ Germany would protect him.

He gave the smaller nation his word yet again, and all four of them finally set off to discover the elusive Austria's whereabouts.

Germany was absolutely dreading this.

* * *

Spain was indeed correct in assuming that he had heard Austria earlier, so the group's searches were certainly not in vain. The man in question had been running around the facility for quite some time, not that he had noticed Spain before.

Then again, Austria had spent a majority of his time escaping from a hoard of zombies. No matter what he tried or where he went, that same hoard seemed to catch up with him every single time he stopped to rest.

_That is the last time I go check out a hallway that had gunshots coming from it,_ the sophisticated "young" man thought.

His breath was still ragged and hurried due to his constant attempts at escaping the hoard. All his mind could really comprehend at the moment was that he still wasn't out of the hole yet. In fact, even though it seemed that he had escaped his pursuers for the moment, his current situation was probably even worse than before.

The floor was incredibly damp where he was, but he still sat in the puddles that surrounded him. There was no way he could keep going at this rate. Although he couldn't give an exact estimate, he had to guess that he had been running from those cannibals for over ten minutes. Maybe even longer.

At the moment, there was no way he would be recovering any time soon. Every inch of his body ached, his legs nearly numb. All the aristocrat could do was sit and allow his breath to return to him.

He could allow this for now, as not only had he managed to lose the hoard for a while, the door to the room he had collapsed in had a lock on it. There were a whole slew of people he could be thanking due to that one act of mercy towards him.

_Thank Hungary, thank Germany, thank Spain, thank Italy, thank…hell! Thank Prussia! I don't care anymore! Thank everyone!_

Austria took another good look at his surroundings. He had managed to lock himself in a small private office. The whole place looked as though it had been hit by a flood. Then again, the entire facility had apparently been hit by a flood, as far as he could tell. Sure, it was pitch black and he had no source of light on him, but it was obvious that there was water splashing with every step that he had taken before. It didn't help that he was slouching in a fairly large puddle at that moment either.

_Look how far I've fallen. Prussia would be proud._ Similar thoughts continued to invade his overactive mind

It suddenly struck Austria that had he listened to some of his peers earlier in life, he probably wouldn't have been so exhausted and defeated. It's not like he had been running for his life for _that_ long. Hungary could have gone on longer. Hell, Hungary could have run from those things for _days_.

Wait, what was he thinking? Hungary would have torn those beasts to shreds with her bare hands. She would have never even bothered with running.

The pampered, aristocratic nation had never been a man of war. There had never really been a war that he had done well in on his own, and it was obvious that all of his neighbors were much better suited to fighting than him. Back in the days he had relied on Switzerland. Then he relied on Hungary. Now it seemed that he relied on both Hungary and Germany. Perhaps it would be in his best interest to start becoming more independent. But would that involve dropping his music?

Life without his music would not be life at all. Of course, music was no where to be seen at the current time and place. Music would not be able to help him in this time of need. What would benefit the pampered nation would be a good nap. Much rest was still required if he had any hope of escaping from wherever it was that he had woken up in.

The problem here was that he still couldn't seem to catch his breath. His legs were still completely numb. His arms and upper body still ached all over. It must have been quite a while since he last ran like that. There wasn't even any way that he would be able to fight back either, as not only was he not a man of action, he also had no weapons on him.

Austria supposed that he could substitute something in his current location as a weapon, but of he was too exhausted to even think about moving around. There was of course the messenger bag that he had at his side, but there was nothing useful within it.

At least he managed to lose those creatures. He had been beginning to believe that he would never lose them. A thought appeared at the back of his mind, and he vaguely began to wonder whether or not those creatures would even be able to kill him. Even if they couldn't kill him, he knew for a fact that being eaten alive would not be a fun way to spend the time. Actually, it sounded rather horrific.

_Hey, I think I'll thank Mozart for that door's lock as well._

Austria knew that his thoughts were a bit disorganized. He knew that very well. There was nothing he could do about it, though. Anyone's thoughts would be a jumbled mess after being hit so hard by exhaustion, fear, and stress. At least he was safe for the moment. He wasn't in a very good situation, but he was safe. He could finally rest up a bit.

The one scenario that truly scared the pampered nation was still penetrating through every other disorganized thought he had. What if that hoard happened upon his safe haven? What if they happened to burst right through that door and swarm the collapsed nation? He knew for a fact that there would be nothing he could do about it. If any zombies found and burst into his safe haven, then he would just continue slouching against his damp wall. He would probably scream, and he would probably piss his pants, but there would be absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

Once again, Austria was struck by his thoughts. It appeared that the more he thought about his situation, the more humiliating his thoughts became. At that moment, he truly was a pathetic man. "Prussia would be proud" indeed.

He closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts. All he needed to do was relax. If he could relax, his body could continue to rest, and just maybe he could finally catch his breath.

It was so silent. Never before had the ringing in his ears been so excruciatingly painful. The sound of true silence was quite possibly more painful than any ache in his body. Austria almost let himself tear up. He wanted his music. He wanted to be home with his piano. He wanted to be back at home with Hungary so he could play his newest composition for her. She would always take the time to just sit and listen to him play. Those small moments were the happiest of his life.

Breath evening out, the muscles of his face loosening up, Austria was finally allowing himself to relax. Just the thought of playing his music for Hungary brought him peace. Perhaps he could play for her once he returned home from this hell. That would be ideal. Too bad he still doubted that he could escape from the facility. Thoughts like those would not ruin the peace he had strived so hard to achieve for himself. The best chance for his survival would be to calm down. Thoughts of his death would only serve as a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Austria, the ever loyal man that he was, would not do that to Hungary. He could never do something like that to the young woman that had always been able to capture his heart. It was almost as if allowing himself to die here would be a dishonor to her. Hungary was such a strong woman, and she always had Austria's back. It was time for him to prove that he could handle himself. He would return to Hungary as a new man. It would be a true sign of his loyalty to her. If he could protect himself, then he could protect Hungary. Isn't it always one's goal to be able to protect the one you love?

Hungary watched over Austria for so long, and she was always so devoted. He would repay those favors. He would survive this. He had to for Hungary…

Those thoughts seemed to be doing the trick, as the aristocratic nation was finally slipping into a light rest. His body still ached, but he was recovering. Recovery was what he needed more than anything else if he was going to escape. And he had to escape, not just as a promise to himself, but as a promise to Hungary.

The sound of silence began to die down. The ringing of his ears fading away into the abyss of nothing. Sleep was finding its way into Austria's life, and with it would bring his much needed recovery. A second wind. A chance to attempt an escape once more. No run-ins with hoards of once imaginary creatures. Just rest and recovery. This was the time to—

BAM! The door of the office room vibrated with the force at which it had been impacted at. Something was out there, and it wanted in.

As predicted, Austria did nearly "piss his pants", as his thoughts had so eloquently phrased it before.

_ No. No way. They can't do this to me now. I'm not allowing myself to die here!_ The thoughts sped through the nation's mind faster than he could even comprehend them.

How had the hoard found him? Could they break into the room? How sturdy was that door? Austria was in no way prepared for this. Since he had allowed himself to relax for a few moments, he felt that he could at least move around a bit more. That didn't necessarily mean that he could fight off and escape the hoard once again, though.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, the nation reached into the damp messenger bag at his side. He had found it in an office room before the entire fiasco with the never-ending zombie hoard. For reasons not even known to himself, Austria was reaching into the bag to grab one of the only two objects within. The object in question was completely nonsensical for the situation at hand, but it was the only thing in the pampered nation's reach.

There was another thud at the office door. Austria extracted the object from his bag. It was a disappointing find for him. He couldn't even explain just why he was disappointed, though. He knew exactly what he was going to find in that bag. Had he expected it to be anything different over the last ten minutes? He had been running nonstop since he had reached the private office, and he had never grabbed anything along the way. That didn't seem to stop the sense of disappointment and dread emanating from the nation.

In his hand was a handheld CB transceiver, one of two he had found early on after waking up within the seemingly abandoned facility. Though he was in a complete panic at the time, all the dark-haired nation could do was stare at the transceiver in confusion. What had possessed him to take it out? By itself in a combat situation, the transceiver was useless. Once more, he was overcome by a severe sense of disappointment.

Though his body still ached, though his legs were nearly numb, the nation still forced himself to get up. There was a moment of determination—a fire—that struck his motives. He would make himself stand, and he would _fight._ He would fight the most impressive battle of his life. Useless CB transceiver be damned, Austria would go down in a blaze of glory. He would not go down in history as the first nation to fall to the zombie apocalypse. Even if he did die at that moment, he would go down in the rosters as having given it his all.

Yet another thud impacted the office door. Hinges creaked, and the weakened materials protested in near agony. One final impact and that door would be coming down. But the impact never came.

Instead, it sounded almost as if there were faint voices coming from the other side. One voice in particular sounded pretty upset. And when Austria said "upset", it was more like "completely ticked off".

The dark-haired nation was still too panicked and shocked to even dare move from his spot against the far office wall. Were there even voices on the other side of that door? They could easily be hopeful hallucinations of his. His mind was playing a cruel trick on him, it had to be.

Still, those voices continued on, despite Austria's doubts of their existence. The angry one sounded as though it finally had enough, as its tone and intensity increased ten-fold. If the aristocratic nation was being honest with himself, it sounded almost as though the voice had just yelled, "Fine!"

Then the moment Austria had been waiting for arrived. One final thud was heard, and the office door came crashing down. One of its hinges flew across the room, landing a mere yard from Austria's position.

Though he was terrified, he was ready. He raised the CB transceiver and readied it. As the body that had brought the door down steadied itself, the transceiver was tossed. Austria had never thrown something so hard in his life. He didn't know whether or not he should be proud of his newest accomplishment, but whatever the reason, he had to take off now!

Pushing against the wall behind him with as much force as he could muster, he began his mad dash out of the office room. Unfortunately, as he had expected, he was caught. He was caught by the person who he had tossed the transceiver at, in fact. Both of the nation's arms were grabbed at once, and he quickly found himself slammed against the nearest wall.

It had all happened so fast that he couldn't even register what was going on. Something horrible was happening, but he couldn't seem to figure out how to react to it. Then the unexpected happened.

A beam of light shined into the private office room; the first ounce of light that Austria had seen in forever. It was nearly as painful as the sound of silence. His eyes had already adjusted to the darkness of the facility, so he definitely had not been prepared to face a light of all things.

_Well, this is it. You didn't really put up a fight at all,_ he berated himself.

He waited for the first bite to come. He prepared for the moment where he would be eaten alive. As usual, the moment he had been waiting for never came. Instead, there was once again the unexpected.

"Mister Austria! It's so good to see you alive! We were all so worried about you! Why'd you go and throw that thing at Germany? That wasn't very nice!" Through the panic and confusion, the dark-haired nation knew that he recognized that voice.

Was all of that rambling coming from Italy?

* * *

AN: Hey guys! Thanks for sticking with me and checking out chapter 2! I've enjoyed writing this so far, so I hope it's turning out well.

It's chapter 2, and already seven characters have been introduced. Sorry if any transitions between them are confusing. It also seemed like Germany was over-thinking everything in this chapter. I'll try to avoid that next time. Also, I apologize for Spain's random line in Spanish there. I couldn't remember the proper way of saying "I was worried about you", so the line I put roughly translates to "I worried myself for you!" which just sounds ridiculous. I'm still debating cutting that line out. Anyways, thanks again for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

"So, sorry about slamming you against the wall like that, Austria," Germany apologized for what had probably been the fifth time now. Then again, Austria _had_ thrown that transceiver pretty hard. The fact that his fellow nation had reacted in such a way was justifiable. Looking at Germany's head, he could already tell that the impact of the transceiver would be leaving a pretty large bruise.

After locating Austria, the group of European countries had sat within the private office with him for a while. The aristocratic nation was forced to rest in the office's desk chair, listening to how the others had come to find him.

They informed him of how Spain had heard him and wanted to search for him. When they had been searching the office areas, Romano had apparently located a locked door, which happened to be the door leading to Austria himself. Spain had at first tried to break the door down, but then Germany had intervened, saying that all of that noise was certain to attract a hoard to their location. It took some convincing from Italy, but Germany had finally relented and busted the door down himself.

And then the little incident with the transceiver had occurred. In all honesty, Austria would have preferred it if he could just forget about all of that. At least none of them actually knew about the little pep rally he had given himself before tossing the device. Then again, the only person who would have possibly thought there was something wrong with that was Germany. Fortunately, the man probably would have just treated him the same as usual. Austria still felt like the entire ordeal was a bit embarrassing for him.

Now, the only people in the office were the two nations in question. The group had figured it would be better if Austria was able to rest some more, so in the desk chair he went. Italy and Romano were looking around the other office rooms for any extra supplies, as Spain had mentioned multiple times that some of the offices did indeed have ammo in them. Austria really couldn't fathom why office rooms would have ammo in them, but this situation wasn't exactly normal. As for Spain, the cheerful nation was keeping watch out in the hallways. He was looking out for both the Italy brothers and the two Germanic nations within the private office.

Austria looked up at his housemate and then sighed. "No big deal, Germany. We were both just expecting some more of those things to attack us." He shrugged. "It could have been worse. You could have just shot me instead of throwing me against a wall."

When he looked at Germany once more, it appeared as though the man was closely scrutinizing him through the darkness.

"Well, you don't need to stare at me like that! That's incredibly rude, you know," the aristocratic nation pointed out. Germany immediately looked away.

"There we go," he muttered.

Austria tilted his head in confusion. "What do you mean by that? What have I said about being intentionally vague? You know that's just irritating!"

"You were being too somber before!" the Germanic nation replied. "I was starting to worry after you hadn't nagged at me in so long."

Now Austria could feel actual irritation coming up. "What? What do you mean I 'nag'?!" He stood up from his current seat in the office's desk chair. "You should be glad that all I threw at you was that transceiver! I could have done much more damage to you, and at this point I don't think I would even care!" He stomped and turned away from his current companion, facing the wall with his arms crossed in front of him.

There was a moment of silence from the nation behind him. That would teach him to mock his superior like that! Well, Austria wasn't actually his superior, but he liked to believe that he was the one who ran the house. It was an attribute that the pampered nation had acquired at a young age. He couldn't fight, but he could definitely run a household and keep everything in order.

Finally, Germany coughed a bit, making at least some noise.

"You know," he started, "if I was Prussia, I would be commenting on how childish you're acting right now."

That of course got Austria to turn back around. "You're already commenting on how childish I'm being! And by the way, I'm definitely _not_ being childish! I'm just incredibly stressed out right now! This situation is not one of those refined occasions that I have been conditioned to attend to!"

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was just making an even bigger fool of himself. Just what was that last sentence of his even supposed to mean?

When he took the time to examine Germany's reaction, he could see the gears turning in the nation's head. Having known his neighboring nation ever since the day Germany came in to existence, Austria could already tell that the man was regretting ever working the older nation up.

If Germany thought that Austria liked to nag, then he would learn to regret those words. The aristocratic nation would nag his head off until he was begging him to leave him alone, and at that point he didn't even care that he was making a fool of himself.

"Well, you certainly seem to be feeling better," Germany pointed out. This statement was of course preceded by a large sigh.

There was nothing Austria could say against that, as it was a fact. He had begun to feel better just moments after realizing that he had some company and wasn't all alone anymore. So, Austria did the mature thing and let his housemate know that he agreed with that statement.

"Then we should get going," the Germanic nation suggested after Austria's reveal. The blond nation then looked over at the CB transceiver sitting on the desk. It wasn't a look of loathing, as Austria might have expected, but rather it was a look of deep thought. He then picked the transceiver up and continued to take a good look at it.

"Do you know if this still works?" Germany asked after a few more moments.

Austria replied, "Yes, it does still work. The problem is that I can't pick up any signals off of it." He watched as Germany's expression went from thoughtful to nearly downtrodden. "But," the pampered nation continued, reaching into his messenger bag, "I was able to get it to connect with this other transceiver here." He showed the Germanic nation his second transceiver.

Germany grabbed the second device and proceeded to turn both of them on. As Austria had said, both of them could signal each other perfectly. He then looked back up at his companion. "Where did you find these?"

"I found them in a storage room a little ways away from here. There wasn't really anything else I could find in there." Through the darkness, he could barely make out Germany's questioning stare. Austria decided to clarify why he grabbed the devices. "You see, at first I figured I could contact someone, but I could only get a signal out of the second transceiver. I figured I would bring them with me anyways, as having them was better than nothing."

Germany nodded. Before either of them could say much else, there was a loud crash from out in the hallway. It sounded as though it had happened from a few doors down.

Both nations ran outside, but found no one around. Then, a light appeared from around a corner near the end of the hallway. Holding that light was Spain, who was rushing towards the two nations with a panicked look on his face.

"Austria! Germany! We have some problems! I mean, we have some _big_ problems!" the nation yelled, swinging the flashlight in his hand around wildly.

Austria was about to ask just what was going on, but Spain quickly turned around and aimed his rifle down from where he came. Even though the current situation was apparently quite serious, Austria couldn't help but wonder how the man was managing to hold a flashlight steady while aiming a sniper rifle.

Then he heard the moans. It wasn't just a couple of moans either; it was an extreme amount of moaning. Austria recognized those sounds, and they immediately filled him with dread. It was another hoard.

The first zombies came shambling around the corner, and they just kept coming one after the other. Spain shot a few of them down, but to no avail. He turned back around and ran past the two Germanic nations.

"What are you two doing?! We need to get out of this area now! Can't you see that?!" he yelled as he retreated down the hall.

As reluctant as he was to be running once more, Austria followed the nation. When he looked back, he noticed that Germany appeared to hesitate before following suit. Unfortunately, he was able to outrun the aristocratic nation easily. Once more, Austria was filled with embarrassment, though it was overshadowed by his current terror.

The Germanic nations followed Spain as he dashed through a set of doors and into a different office area. The three nations began to barricade the doors the moment they were shut. Germany was able to find a sturdy pipe, and shoved it in between the door handles. Austria figured that it would only hold back the hoard for so long. Hopefully they continued their escape soon, as he did not want to be around for when the hoard managed to break the doors down.

Instead of running, Germany turned on Spain.

"What. Happened." Though the dim light of Spain's newly acquired flashlight, Austria could see the look of pure rage on the blond's face.

"It wasn't my fault, Germany!" Spain pleaded.

"Where is Italy?"

"H-he and Romano were the ones who triggered the hoard!"

That just seemed to enrage the Germanic nation even more. "Are they still alive? You didn't just have us abandon them, did you?"

Spain was lucky that Germany appeared to have great control of his emotions, as Austria could tell that he wanted nothing more than to tear the nation to shreds. Of course, he did have a point, and was completely justified in being angry.

"I had no choice, Germany!" The nation in question took a menacing step towards Spain. "No! Just hear me out, amigo! I left to go check up on Italy and Romano, but when I found them, Italy somehow managed to knock over an unhinged door. Then that hoard just came out of nowhere! It was huge!"

Germany didn't look any more pleased with Spain.

"They were too far down the hallway for me to reach them in time! The hoard split us up! They both took off through some doors to the other set of office areas! Since I couldn't get to them, I ran back to get you guys!"

Austria interrupted before Germany could act out on his rage. "So Italy and Romano are most likely still alive?"

"Yes!" Spain seemed relieved at Austria's intervention. "We should be able to reach their office section from here, don't you think? And besides, it should be easy to locate them since I found this extra flashlight in one of the rooms earlier on!"

Germany opened his mouth to reply, but the doors behind the trio nearly burst wide open. The pipe in the handles just barely held.

"Listen, I understand that finding the Italy brothers is urgent, but I believe that keeping ourselves alive is much more important right now!" Austria rationalized.

Germany grudgingly agreed, and the three took off just in time for the "sturdy" pipe to give away and allow the hoard through.

As they ran, Germany grabbed his luger and threw some shots behind at the zombies. Some of them fell, but not enough for the group to have a shot at defeating the entire hoard.

The panic and stress immediately hit Austria once more. His breathing became erratic again, and already he could feel his legs going numb. There had simply not been enough recovery time for him between hoard attacks. The further along the trio ran, the harder he had to work just to keep his legs from giving out on him.

_Just a bit further. We'll make this, I know we will. Keep going!_ He attempted to rally his spirits once more, but there was no room for pleasant thoughts in his head at that moment. Both Germany and Spain were pulling far ahead of him, and the hoard continued to draw ever closer to his tiring body.

How could the zombies keep up with them so well? They were reanimated corpses. There was no way they should have been able to move at that speed. Yet they were still right on the group's tail. It didn't help that no matter how hard he tried, Austria simply could no longer keep himself on his legs.

Just when he was about to lose the will to keep on running, a loud blast came from one of the private offices he passed. The sound was so unexpected that Austria's legs finally gave out, and he fell into a crumpled heap on the floor. Three of the zombies immediately set upon him, but with two more loud blasts, they were blown away, heads missing. There were now three headless corpses on top of him, covering his entire body with their bloody remains. It was simply too much for the nation to process.

Spain's rifle could probably blow off some zombie heads, but not three in two shots. Then above all of that, someone was talking to him. He could barely hear the person though, as an immense amount of shooting was going on. The hoard continued to swarm, yet they were now falling as quickly as they came.

"Hey Specs, you just stay right there. These freaks won't bother you if you're covered in their corpses. I think." Some more blasts from in front of Austria. There were more gunshots coming from behind him as well, most likely from Germany and Spain. So then who was this individual that was speaking to him? "Then again, I'm always right, you know!" The last statement was followed by a particularly annoying laugh.

Zombies were appearing from left and right, falling as soon as they came into eyesight. Blood was splattering everywhere. The three corpses on top of him were coming close to suffocating him. It was hard enough to breathe as it was without being crushed by dead weight, but his "savior" had a point. Austria was obviously useless in this battle, and he was safe while under those corpses. That still did nothing to comfort him of that suffocating feeling.

In front of him, someone seemed to be having way too much fun killing off all of those zombies.

* * *

This was great. This was _exhilarating_. It was almost like being back on the front lines, fighting battle after battle as the Teutonic Knights.

One shot, there goes your head! Boom! Two more down! Oh, the shotgun needs to be reloaded? No worries! There's always that handy-dandy sword! Chop! Slice! Oh, and look at that! Evisceration! Look at all of that blood pour out! Hilarious!

This was adrenaline at the height of its power. This was adrenaline flowing through the veins of someone who could very well be described as a maniac. He couldn't explain it either. He didn't want to explain it. By explaining what could very well be a case of insanity, he was choosing to submit to his conscience. There was no room for a conscience here. This was survival, and survival was pretty damn fun, as it turned out.

There was no need for worries here. There were zombies. He could kill zombies. By killing zombies, he was submitting to his darkest urges, indulging in the pure, unadulterated taste of humanity. This was a callback to his one purpose in life. A callback to the only reason he even existed. Fighting, killing, dominating, taking over; these were all tasks he was programmed to accomplish.

To protect. That was in there somewhere as well, but it was easily being taken care of. He was protecting old Specs, of course. Upon entering this battle, the first thing he did was ensure the nation's safety. Once that was taken care of, he let his ancient, sealed away instincts take over. It had been too long since he had been able to let loose and show the world what he was made for.

More and more zombies fell at his hands. Corpses were piling at his feet. Indeed, this felt right. He had nearly forgotten how it felt to be on the winning side of a war, but the ecstasy that it brought came back all too quickly. It was close to sensory overload, if he was being honest with himself. It was a good sensory overload, though. Who cared what anyone else said about it. At least he admitted that his feelings could not be considered sane by any means.

As he was dealing with one of his numerous targets, a lone zombie approached him. Off went the head of the former zombie, while impalement of the brain was the fate of the latter. None could successfully shamble within three feet of the nation without meeting their fate at his hands.

At times, he realized that his fellow nations were helping out, shooting the other members of the hoard, but he allowed himself to believe that he was the best. He did as he always did; he lied to himself. The more the zombies around him fell, the louder the mantra in his head played. No one could defeat him. He was back in his prime. He could take on anything that was thrown his way, because he was just that awesome.

At last, only one zombie remained to witness his destruction. The zombie's fellow hoard was dead around it, all at the hands of the European nations. Scratch that. The other two didn't count. They weren't a part of this. This madness, this gore, this display of pure primal instincts; it was all at the hands of him, and only him. No one could tell him otherwise.

The two nations behind him spoke with each other. The adrenaline running through his systems would not allow him to hear, though. He wouldn't be satisfied, not until the very last of the rotten beasts was dead.

Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew one of his extra shotgun shells. After the weapon had run out of ammo earlier in the battle, he had neglected to reload it. Beheading and impaling his foes was much more satisfying than blasting them away ever could be. It felt more like the death and destruction was at his hands, and not at the hands of some artillery. Still, watching as the creatures' heads exploded at the impact of a shell's blast was always thrilling. He would allow this final zombie that fate.

He loaded the shell into his Remington 870, pumped the barrel, and took aim. With one large explosion, the final zombie's head was taken off, bits and pieces of it splattering onto the nearby walls. It sent a wave of excitement down his spine.

Then there was nothing. He felt empty. There had to be more zombies around, surely. That was too much fun to be over already. That long forgotten feeling had left his systems far too early for his liking, and he needed more. In fact, he needed a lot more. If he could just sit and kill those zombies for the rest of his life, he would die a happy man.

The adrenaline wasn't the only thing. Doing this made him feel as though his life had purpose once more. Without being able to fight and kill those who opposed him, he had no reason to live. He was an empty shell without war. Being created to wage war and conquer other nations left him no room to adapt to simple, everyday life.

Someone was calling his name. He barely heard it. His adrenaline high was still in effect, and he was certain it had rendered him temporarily deaf. Either that or he didn't want to hear his companions.

The only conclusion was that he wanted to avoid them. He wanted to bask in his ecstasy, though it was dying down at an extreme rate. Perhaps being able to properly hear his fellow nations would only serve to kill what was left of his high for good. It couldn't go away, not just yet. Still, with the death of that last zombie, it was fading. There was nothing the crazed nation could do about it. His vision was becoming more focused to detail, and with that flashlight beam swinging around, he noticed the mass amounts of corpses surrounding him.

Decaying body upon decaying body, there was nowhere that the floor was visible. The entirety of the facility walls was covered in blood and chunks of rotten flesh. He knew that he should have felt disgusted at the sight, especially since he was the cause of most of it, but he felt nothing. Actually, it wasn't that he felt nothing; he felt quite a few emotions. The problem was that he couldn't figure out which emotion was supposed to take front seat it his consciousness. It was a swarm, a jumble of emotions so small and confusing that he didn't even want to try to figure it out. But he wasn't disgusted by what he saw. That was the only thing that mattered. He wasn't worried about that.

He knew that was a problem. He just couldn't bring himself to care.

Someone called his name again. Finally relenting, he turned around and looked at his fellow nations. They were asking him where he came from.

Well, he came from the office room that he was standing right next to, of course. For some reason, he didn't voice this. Remaining silent, he continued to stare at the European nations before him.

Now they were asking what was wrong. One was getting upset and demanding that he answer them. They sounded pretty familiar to him, but he still couldn't grasp the information in his head. It had been so long since he had been able to go into the field and serve his purpose. It seemed that adrenaline and excitement had clouded every thought process that he was capable of experiencing. He knew the faces; he just had to put a name to them.

This was ridiculous. One of them was obviously his younger brother. He knew that he lived with old Specs… Speaking of which, where was Austria? There were too many corpses on the floor for him to remember where he had left the man.

Wait! Austria! West lived with Austria!

All at once, everything came crashing down. The adrenaline dissipated with the appearance of his thoughts and memories. The need to dominate and kill was overcome by intense feelings of relief over seeing his younger brother. He finally became himself once more, no longer stuck in his adrenalized state of madness.

"Hey, West! You're alive! Look at you!" Prussia finally yelled.

Needless to say, Germany looked both confused and upset over this sudden turn of events. Prussia didn't blame him. One moment it seems as though your older brother doesn't even recognize you, the next he's excitedly proclaiming that you're alive.

He began walking towards Germany, doing his best not to trip over the numerous bodies that littered the floor. His younger brother did not look too pleased at all. Still, Prussia's grin never faltered. This was his reunion with the younger nation, and he would not let West's attitude ruin the moment.

"Just what is this all about?" Germany demanded from his approaching sibling.

"What do you mean by that?" Prussia asked as he stopped before him. A majority of the corpses were left behind, as not many of the zombies had been able to reach Germany and his companion, who Prussia finally noticed.

While Spain was shining his flashlight over the many bodies in the hallway, he spoke up, "What he means is that he's upset because you wouldn't listen to anything he said throughout that whole ordeal!"

Prussia's grin widened. He was always pissing people off, it seemed. "Yeah, sorry I didn't say anything sooner. I came from the office room right there, if you really wanted me to answer that one question so bad." He gestured back towards the doorway where a majority of the zombies laid dead.

"It's not just that!" Germany yelled, "The entire time you were killing those things, we were trying to get you to retreat! You wouldn't listen, so Spain and I had to waste precious ammo on all of those zombies so that you wouldn't get yourself killed!"

Prussia scoffed, "You didn't have to waste any ammo on me. I was doing just fine on my own." He folded his arms in front of him and put an arrogant smirk upon his face.

"No you weren't!" Germany replied. "Do you know how many times you were almost attacked by those things? If Spain and I hadn't stuck around to help out, you would have been eaten alive!"

Now Prussia was just confused. "What? I was doing great! Didn't you see how many of those things I managed to take out?"

Germany sighed. It appeared that he was struggling to not let anymore of his rage show. He followed the shine of Spain's flashlight beam as it traveled over the many bodies. At that moment, Prussia realized that they were both attempting to locate Austria.

Putting the possibility that he might have come close to failing out of his mind, he decided to assist in their search. Besides, he was the one who had shot the corpses onto Specs anyways. With his head cleared of adrenaline and killing, he could finally focus on just where it was he had dropped the bodies.

About five yards from their positions, and only three feet from the office door, Prussia spotted the aristocratic nation's squirming body. It was obvious that he was attempting to release himself from his coffin of corpses. The older of the Germanic brothers strutted his way over towards Austria, standing before his trapped body in a domineering matter.

"Well, Specs, looks like you need a hand there. Too weak to even lift a couple of corpses off of yourself?" he teased.

Austria's exposed head turned up to face his addressor. It seemed that the nation was hyperventilating, stuck in a full on panic attack. Maybe it would be better if he just allowed his longtime acquaintance some peace. Though the Germanic nation was accustomed to death and decay, he knew that the pampered nation before him was not. Being stuck under three corpses like that couldn't be too good for his mental health.

"Well don't worry!" Prussia finally stated. "I'm here to help! Aren't I just an awesome friend?"

He reached down and began hoisting one of the bodies off of Austria. Once he got some of the weight off of his fellow nation, it seemed that Austria was finally able to get a hold of himself and push the final two corpses off. As all of this was being accomplished, Prussia noticed the shine of Spain's flashlight grow larger, and footsteps were heard from behind him.

"Austria! Are you okay?" Spain asked once he reached the two.

The nation in question sat up, grasping his chest and fighting desperately to gain a hold of his breath.

"I'm pretty certain he's not feeling too well right now," Prussia stated, pointing at the man among the dead.

Spain walked around and crouched down to Austria's level. He put a hand upon his shoulder and looked into the nation's eyes. Prussia then noticed that the aristocratic nation was missing his trademark glasses. He vaguely wondered when they had gotten lost, as the nation just looked so odd without them.

"Amigo, you need to try to get a hold of yourself. We're safe now. The hoard has been taken care of, see?" With his flashlight, Spain gestured at the bodies around them.

Though Austria's breathing appeared to gradually slow down to normal, he still looked quite disgusted by the display. Oddly enough, Prussia envied him for being able to feel disgust. Even though his adrenaline high had died down and his attitude and conscience were back to normal, he still felt nothing towards the gory sight.

Austria hesitated before finally being able to find his voice. "Can…Can we leave this place? I don't want to see that." His tone was airy, and he struggled to spit the sentence out without gasping for breath. The nation was still tense, but it appeared that his panic attack was finally dissipating.

Germany stepped up to the two nations on the ground, "We should probably get going now. We still have to find Italy and Romano."

"Italy and Romano are here?" Prussia asked.

"Yes," Germany replied, "They got separated from us when that hoard attacked. Spain saw them escape, so there's a good chance that they're still alive."

That last statement struck something in Prussia.

"Hey," he started, "do you think those things can kill us?"

Austria began to stand up with the help of Spain. Once the two nations got to their feet, Austria replied, "I'd rather not find out. Let's just get out of this place. The sight and smell are making me sick."

He couldn't say anything about the sight, but Prussia agreed that the smell of the decay was quite strong. It was a bit nauseating too, not that he would complain about it.

Germany also agreed with his housemate, and he turned to lead the way down the hallway. Spain held an arm around Austria in order to keep him up right, and Prussia followed close behind them.

The Spanish nation glanced behind at his new companion. "So Prussia, what have you been up to since you woke up here? Do you have any idea what's going on?"

Prussia shrugged, but grinned at the man. "I have absolutely no idea what's going on here. I just woke up downstairs some time ago. Do you have any idea how flooded it is down there? It's like this place has its own private sewer system or something!" He realized that he was digressing. "But yeah, I woke up with my sword, and then I found this shotgun," he held his shotgun up, but without the flashlight it was too dark to see it properly. "I've just been running around killing these things. I didn't actually realize there was anyone else in this place."

"Yeah, me neither. Then I found these guys," Spain mentioned. "Do you guys think there's anyone else stuck here besides us, Italy, and Romano?" he asked this question to everyone.

"I wouldn't be surprised." Germany stated.

Austria then stopped, forcing Spain to stop along with him.

"Do you really think it's a good idea to have me running around with you?" he asked.

"Huh?" Spain started, "What do you mean?"

"Prussia made me realize this before," Austria continued, "I'm completely useless to you guys. I can't fight, and I don't even have a weapon on me."

Germany turned around to face him, arms folded across his chest. "So what do you suggest we do? Leave you here?"

The aristocratic nation lowered his head. "Well, no. I just thought that maybe I could find somewhere safe to hide until you all locate Italy and Romano."

"That would probably take quite a bit of time, Austria," Germany sighed. "We don't have time to be wasting. We need to find them right away."

Austria broke free from Spain's helping hand.

"No," he clarified, "I'll just go look for a safe house by myself. I did it before, and I can do it again."

This time Prussia spoke up, reaching towards Austria, who backed away. "No way, Specs. You're in no shape to be running around on your own. Maybe before this you were, but now you're not. You'd be caught the moment you walk by one of those things."

"Aren't you listening to me? I'm a nuisance to you guys. It would be easier for you to locate Italy and Romano without me. So not only would this benefit me, it would also benefit them. I know that you two," Austria gestured at Germany and Spain, "are especially worried about them, so why not just let me split up and find some place to hide until then?"

Prussia scoffed, "And how do you suppose we'll be able to locate you afterwards? Even if you do manage to survive on your own, that is."

"Simple," Austria reached into his messenger bag and pulled out two devices. "We use these."

"Huh? You got walkie-talkies?" Prussia wasn't sure whether or not he should laugh, but he was certainly amused.

"They're handheld CB transceivers." Germany stated.

"Oh, well it's kind of hard to tell the difference in the dark, you know!"

"Wait," Spain broke in, "there's a difference?"

"That doesn't matter!" Germany interrupted. "You're serious about this?" he asked Austria.

The nation nodded. "Yes, positively."

He held out one of the transceivers to the Germanic nation. Germany looked at it for a moment, but finally relented and took it.

"I'm not happy about this, but you do have a point." A pause. "I still think you should come with us."

"I'll go with him if you're so worried!"

Both Prussia and Germany looked at Spain in shock.

"Really?" They asked at the same time.

"Yes, really." Spain clarified. He looked at Austria, who looked equally shocked. "I really want to find Romano. I know you all realize that, but I'm sure you've also figured out that I don't like killing those zombies. If I go along with Austria and keep him safe, we can find a hiding place and it won't be so likely that I'll have to kill again."

Right away Prussia was fine with this, but in the dim light of Spain's flashlight he could see that Germany was deep in thought.

"Fine," his younger brother relented, "both of you go find a place to hide. Prussia and I will try to find Italy and Romano as quickly as possible." He thought for another moment, "Also, keep a look out for them while you're at it."

"Got it, amigo!" Spain said, taking a hold of Austria's arm. He was immediately shrugged off again.

"Sorry Spain, but I think I'll be fine for now," the aristocratic nation justified.

With that, the two nations took off in the direction that everyone had arrived from, leaving Germany and Prussia to push on ahead towards the unknown.

"I can't believe I have to run around with you." Germany sighed.

"I can't believe they took the only flashlight with them, but you don't see me complaining, do you?" Prussia sneered.

This was going to be fun, he could already tell.

* * *

AN: Well, apparently Prussia has turned into a complete nutcase. Also, I fail at math forever. Last chapter I believe I said I had introduced seven characters, yet at that point it was actually eight. I'm pretty certain I forgot to count either Spain or Romano. Oops. As always, thanks so much for sticking with me on this! This has been a really fun project for me, and I hope it continues to get better! Also, if there's anything you'd like to point out, feel free to tell me. Constructive criticism is always welcome!


	4. Chapter 4

It seemed that no matter which way they went, trouble always seemed to find them. To be more specific, every time they attempted to go somewhere, their progress was impeded. They tried to travel upwards, yet the entry to the stairwell was caved-in. Now, when they wanted to travel downwards, the entryway to the stairwell couldn't even be located.

What was with this place? It was as if the events surrounding their predicaments had been programmed to screw them over in every way possible. There were certainly no elevators in the lower levels either. Every little thing that America had blurted out to his two companions earlier was quickly turning into false hope. They were ideas that only a delusional optimist such as America could ever conceive. And he, France, the most sophisticated nation that he knew, had believed every word he'd said. He took it all in, truly believing that the nation knew what he was talking about.

As it turned out, America did not know what he was talking about, and France realized that now. Why had he allowed himself to believe those lies? What on Earth made him think that in order to find the way to the upper floors, the group must first travel to the lower ones? How in any way was that rational? Sticking around on B1 and attempting to remove the carnage of the caved-in stairway would have made so much more sense than this. France nearly wanted to puke.

Of course, he couldn't allow himself to do that. He was much too refined for that, and his clothing and image were ruined enough as it was. The puking could be left to his good old buddy England. It seemed that the man had turned into an expert at that since the beginning of the zombie apocalypse.

So with America's ineptitude brought into question, why was France still following him? Why was he allowing himself to be played like a fool? Maybe it was because America was the one with the super strength. If he had any hopes of escaping from this facility, he would need some muscle to move the rubble of B1's stairway. America could accomplish that if he really tried. England? Not so much. It would be hilarious to see him attempt something like that, but it would get them nowhere.

That just left the process of convincing America to change his mind. The man was on a mission, and it seemed that he would not let himself be swayed into an opposing mindset.

Why he wouldn't give up this hopeless quest was beyond France. It was obvious that they weren't going locate the B3 stairwell any time soon, and they couldn't even find the map they had used to reach B2 in the first place. Speaking of which, why hadn't they grabbed that map when they first came across it? What was the logic in not grabbing it? What was the logic in anything that the three nations were doing?

The Frenchman glanced over at England, who had been walking next to America for the majority of the group's exploration. Had he seen the fault in America's plan, as France had? Surely he had the smarts to notice how ridiculous all of this was. France's chances of changing America's mind all fell on England's common sense. And sometimes the man's common sense was severely lacking. Like with the suit he had worn to that last world meeting. What had possessed him to wear such a drab grey like that?

_Stop digressing! This is not the time!_ he yelled at himself.

He had to get America to realize that he was being an idiot. Unfortunately, that was a shockingly hard task to complete, and France knew that he wouldn't be able accomplish such a feat if he didn't have England on his side.

England. On his side. On _France's _side. He was doomed, he was certain of it. Knowing his longtime enemy, England would most likely continue going along with America's stupidity just to spite him. He truly was stuck between a rock and a hard place, as America might say. But France at least had to try, and if neither of the two nations would listen, then he would take off on his own. Perhaps they would feel obligated to follow so they could make sure that he didn't go get himself killed. Either way, he would start with Plan A.

As quiet and sneakily as he could manage, France moved himself directly behind England.

"Hey, we need to talk in private," he whispered.

Then things went to hell. Apparently his fellow nation had not been expecting someone to creep up behind him and demand that they have a talk. So France found himself with the butt of an assault rifle smashed into his face, screaming and panicking accompanied with it from his assailant.

"_Bloody hell_! What do you think you're doing, you asshole?!" England began yelling once he realized who he had just bashed over the head.

Through all of the pain that accompanied his smashed and bleeding nose, France realized that he was now sitting flat on his ass in a large puddle. Great. His dress coat and sweater might have been soaked and absolutely filthy, but now he had to deal with grimy pants. If ever there was a moment where he truly wanted to kill someone, it would be now. His clothes had _never_ been in such a dire state. He felt tainted just thinking about it.

"I—" he was cut off by the blood from his nose pouring into his mouth. "Gah! Why does this have to be happening now?!" He tried his best to spit as much of the crimson substance out as possible. Once that was accomplished, he hung his head back, trying to cut the nose bleed off. He was so furious right now; England was lucky that stopping nose bleeds and escaping zombie infested facilities was more important than retaliation.

"That's what you deserve for creeping up on me like that! What did you expect to happen?!" England replied to France.

The nation in question grabbed his submachine gun and got to his feet, still holding his nose. "I just wanted to talk! I didn't think you were going to freak out and attack me like that!"

England scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "You just wanted to _talk_? Who creeps up right behind someone and whispers 'We need to talk in private' to them? Especially in the middle of some zombie infested facility?"

"Uh, hey guys? What's going on back there?" America asked, having just noticed that neither of his two companions was following him any longer.

Once more, France began to doubt just how reliable America was. England had been walking right beside him when the whole fiasco had occurred, so how could he have not noticed anything? There had been screaming and yelling and everything!

France bent down and picked up his dying flashlight from the ground. More blood oozed out from his nose, staining his gloves. The moment he got rid of this nose bleed, those gloves were going in the trash. Or left behind in a puddle somewhere. There was no way he was going to walk around with the feeling of bloody, stained gloves on his hands. Grimy clothes were bad enough. Honestly, all of this was just one big fashion nightmare for him. He didn't even want to know what the rest of his body looked like. Especially his face. France bet his nose would be crooked after this. Maybe he could convince America to crack it back in place afterwards if that was the case.

Ignoring those thoughts, he shined the dim beam of his flashlight over at the United States of America. Then he waved him off.

"We're fine over here, monsieur America!" As that was said, some blood poured out of his nose and escaped the confines of his hands. Now it was getting on his sleeves as well, and was beginning to soak through the fabric of his gloves. Despite that, he had to hide his rage. Neither America nor England would respond well to anger, and he still had a chance to enact Plan A of project "Convince America to Stop Being a Moron".

Despite his reassurances, America looked uncertain. "You sure, man?"

"Yes! Sacre bleu! England and I are doing just peachy!" He had to quickly remind himself to hide his anger. Hopefully America was oblivious enough not to have noticed anything.

"We're what?" England asked from beside him, only to have an arm forcefully thrown around his neck. France pulled him in close, shining the flashlight over the both of them, trying his best to show America that _everything was just fine_. America responded well to over-dramatic actions, so this had to be convincing enough for him, right? Thankfully, it appeared that England didn't even know how to respond to his nemesis's actions, so he was unwillingly going along with France's plans.

As expected, America bought it. "Well, okay then! Don't fall behind or anything like that!"

With that, the optimistic nation turned around and continued his explorations of the third basement floor. France sneered at his retreating back; a look that he was certain did not grace his face well. He only allowed it because not only was it dark, but the rest of his outfit already looked unbecoming of him, too.

Let America believe that he was on the path to freedom. France had better plans in mind.

As the younger nation continued on, it seemed that England finally managed to catch his bearings, immediately struggling to get out from France's grasp.

"Let go of me, you git!" He pushed against his captor's arms, occasionally whacking the back of France's legs with his assault rifle.

"Okay, okay! I will! But only if you promise to hear me out here." France relented.

England's struggles died down. "Fine. What do you want? You do realize that this isn't the time or place to be screwing around, right?"

France shined his flashlight in his fellow nation's eyes, eliciting a painful wince from him. "I still want that private talk."

"I get it! Just get that thing out of my eyes!"

Satisfied, France finally let go of his unwilling accomplice.

He swung the beam of light back towards where America had taken off to, noticing that the nation had actually waited for the two. France motioned for England to follow him, and America recommenced with his exploration. The two European nations hung back a ways from him, allowing some form of "privacy".

"I'm listening now, you moron. So what do you have to say?" England glared at his fellow nation.

France gave him a humph, clearly growing impatient with the whole ordeal. At least his nose had finally stopped bleeding. He quickly removed his blood soaked gloves and threw them to the ground.

He sighed before finally replying, "Do you actually think what we're doing right now is logical?"

Clearly, England had not been expecting that. His facial expression showed it all in the dim light. "What do you mean by that?"

"You know. This." He motioned around the entire facility with his flashlight. America looked back at the two nations as the light moved around. He then shrugged and continued on his merry way.

"This." England repeated.

"Yes. This." He paused. "Well, I mean escaping like this." Now England just gave him a blank stare. "Think about it! We've been traveling down in order to make our way up. Is that logical in your books? Please tell me it isn't."

The nation beside him seemed to ponder the idea for a moment, lifting his assault rifle to lie against his shoulder.

"No, I suppose it really doesn't. Just what are you getting at here?"

"It's obvious that there's no elevator of any sort down here. You and I both know it. But America doesn't seem to realize that. Our only way out is the stairway back on the first basement floor." France explained.

"I think I understand where you're going with this, but what do you expect us to do with that stairwell? It was clearly caved-in."

"Yes, but we didn't even attempt to move that rubble aside!" France was adamant. "America has super strength! If he really tried, he could move all of that out of the way! Don't give me that look either, because you know it's true!"

The snooty look vanished from England's face, and it appeared that he was actually beginning to consider what France was telling him.

"So you want to convince America to turn back?"

"Yes. I knew that he wouldn't listen to just me, especially if you were on his side. It's a bit harder to sway him than it is you, you see."

A punch to the arm was his reward for that remark. France was grateful that the man was such a wimp, otherwise he felt that his already unbecoming figure would be incredibly beaten and battered by this point.

He gave a short laugh at that. The thought of England beating him to a pulp was ludicrous, if not hilarious.

"Okay, putting opinions aside, are you with me on this?" the Frenchman asked.

Besides him, the other European nation sighed. France could already tell that England had relented to his advice. He was certain that the only reason he had swayed the nation so quickly was because it was obvious they were on a wild goose chase. Following America's plans here would lead them nowhere. Everyone with eyes could see that, unless they happened to have glasses on. How ironic.

With decisions made, France and his new ally caught up with their "leader".

"You speak with him first," France whispered into England's ear.

"Why? He never listens to anything I say." France had to admit that the man seemed pretty dejected giving out that statement. Not that he cared at all.

He elbowed the nation beside him in the arm. "Come on. He's more likely to listen to you than me. Why do you think I even bothered involving you in this?"

"Because there are only three of us, and you need a majority rule in order to convince him of anything. It all has to do with that bloody democracy policy he has." Now he not only seemed dejected, but increasingly upset as well.

France couldn't help but mull over the fact that England chose the oddest times to become moody. He shoved that thought aside, though. Right now they needed to focus on convincing the only member of their group with super strength to head back upstairs.

"Just say something. It's not like it'll kill you."

"You'd be surprised," the somber nation muttered. He then cleared his throat and raised his voice for America to hear. "Hey, America, can I—"

"Oh! Zombies, incoming around that corner!" the nation suddenly yelled. "Hold on a sec!" He zipped around said corner, two blasts coming from his shotgun shortly after.

France nearly slammed his flashlight against his face. Either England was going to get really pissed off now, or he was going to fall into some temporary fit of depression. Both outcomes would only serve to further impede their progress. This whole day was turning out to be one big mess.

For the moment, it seemed that his ally had decided to angst about his current situation, as he quickly grew quiet, staring down at the ground. He didn't even give out one of those irritated sighs he used when attempting to control his anger. Thinking about it, France decided that being angry would at least bring about a higher rate of progress than if the nation was busy being unreasonably depressed. So he did the one thing he knew that would immediately piss the man off.

"England, we really need to forget about being moody and concentrate on the matter at hand," the Frenchman began.

"What's the point? He never listens. Every time I have something important to say to him, he just ignores me or cuts me off. I don't get it!" Sheesh, England was angsting more than usual.

"Well, you know," France continued, as he slid closer to the dejected nation and put a hand on his back. He let his voice slide down into a more sultry tone, whispering once more, "if you'll forget about America for a moment, we can still have that 'private talk'."

His hand slid down England's back, landing on his ass and promptly grabbing it. No matter the situation, molesting his fellow nations was always fun. So was seeing their reactions to it.

As expected, England was immediately fired up, face completely red in the dim light of the flashlight. Of course, all of that was from pure rage, but France liked to think otherwise.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" the blond nation yelled, smacking down France's hand and pushing him aside. "I thought you said we needed to concentrate on the matter at hand! What happened to that, huh?!"

"Oh, don't worry. The matter was in my hand, alright." France sniggered. Before England's rage could be directed at him any more, he continued on, "But you were getting just a bit too depressing for me there. I needed to lighten the mood up." England continued to give him a death glare. "How do you expect us to convince America of anything when you're sitting in your little corner of woe?"

His glare didn't soften up at all, but he at least sighed. "Okay, let's just get back on track."

America was already returning from his trip around the corner.

England gave their plan one more try. "So, America—"

"Dude, guys! You need to check this out!"

France swore that he saw something snap within England. The nation wasn't saying anything, but his eyes seemed to grow with intense hate the more that this plan derailed. Honestly, he couldn't tell if England hated this plan, America, France, himself, or all of the above.

"Guys? You sure you're alright over there?" America asked, though it was obvious that he was still excited over what he had discovered.

"Nothing. Is going. Right! This place is driving me up a bloody fucking wall! You know that?! I'd say that it's going to drive me to drink, but you already cause me to do that enough as it is! I swear, I think I'm an alcoholic because you're just so damn infuriating!" England finally set his rage loose.

Vaguely, France wondered why it was England who was going off by these setbacks, and not himself, who came up with the plan in the first place. At this point, France was more worried about getting his new ally to calm down than convincing America of anything. Then again, he was the one who pissed England off in the first place, so he was mostly to blame. America was just being too oblivious to notice that anything was wrong, and therefore was making the entire situation that much worse.

"Now England, let's just calm down and see what America has to show us, okay? Maybe you can tell him all about your secret, unspoken desires afterwards," France said, attempting to alleviate the nation's rotten mood. Unfortunately, it appeared that England didn't like how he had phrased that statement.

"What's that supposed to mean? Are you making fun of me now, you git?!" he yelled.

"What? How is that making fun of you?" France demanded.

America appeared out of nowhere and grabbed England by the arm. "Come on! Stop being so stuffy and check out what I found!"

With that, he pulled the raging nation away. France noted that England's mood began to dissipate with the intervention of the younger nation. At least America was good for something, it seemed.

France followed behind his fellow nations, strutting around the corner to check out what it was that America had found. Needless to say, what he saw far exceeded any of his expectations. Around the corner, past the two zombie corpses, laid what appeared to be a giant chasm. He was struck speechless. What on Earth was something like that doing in a prison facility?

Tentatively, he walked up besides England and America and shined the beam of his flashlight through the enormous space. With the accompaniment of light, he found that the chasm was even larger than he had originally estimated. In fact, it was more like a pit than anything. An absolutely gigantic pit at that. And it seemed he wasn't the only one at a loss for words over it. England had been completely silent since the pit's discovery, sitting still with his arm being held tight in America's grasp.

"Isn't this super awesome, guys? I mean, look at it! We can climb down to the lower levels through here!" America exclaimed.

France finally gained some of his bearings back and replied, "What do you mean climb _down_?" America gave him a questioning look. "Have you thought about the possibility of climbing up?" He threw the beam of light upwards, showing that they could indeed reach the upper floors through the pit.

"That would be a lot of work," was the only thing that England managed to spit out. It seemed that too much was happening at once for him to be able to process it all.

"Yeah, England's right! It would be easier to climb down!" America chimed in.

"No! Monsieur, that doesn't make sense! Think about what you're saying!" This time it was America giving him the blank stare. "We will be climbing further underground in order to escape to the world above. We want to reach the first floor, so you're leading us to the lower basement floors. Just try and explain that to me."

"You're both mad if you think that we're climbing that thing." England remained against even going near the pit.

"Well, we _do_ have the opportunity to go upwards now, so I guess we don't actually need to check the lower floors for a basement…" America finally considered France's proposition. After all of that work, it turned out that he didn't need England after all. What a waste of time.

France clapped his hands together. "Good! So now we just have to worry about getting up that pit!" Taking a closer look up the depression, he took notice of the various nooks and crannies that lined the edges of it. It didn't matter how the pit got there. Hell, that pit was the first suspiciously convenient thing that had happened to them since awaking in this filthy place. Every other event being suspiciously _in_convenient.

"You guys do realize that that's a giant pit you want to climb up," England muttered, still being against the very thought of it. "Do you even know how far down that thing leads? What if we fall?"

America let go of England's arm, instead opting to clap him on the back. "Come on now, England! We're nations! It's not like that fall's going to kill us!"

England moved away from him and stared him straight in the eyes. "And how are we expected to make our way back up if we do fall? Not only will we be severely injured, but it's likely that we'll be trapped as well! You never answered me on far this pit leads!"

"Oh, it probably just leads to the fifth basement," France brought up. "I remembered seeing B5 labeled as the lowest floor in the facility."

"And we're on B3! That's the third basement in case you're too daft to realize that! That would be two whole stories we would be falling down!" England exclaimed.

"England, don't get yourself so worked up like that! We're just trying to get out of this place." America assured him, "Like France said, how do you expect us to escape from here?"

"You were the sodding moron who wanted to explore this area in the first place!" he replied.

"Well, I changed my mind!" America declared, as optimistic as ever.

Tired of their conversation, France made his way towards the rocky entrance of the pit. He gave it a good look over, trying to determine the best way to begin his climb. No matter how he looked at it, it would be incredibly difficult to accomplish anything while holding both his flashlight and submachine gun. His flashlight could easily fit in his pocket, but then how would he be able to see what he was grabbing onto? He could always just hold the flashlight in his mouth, he supposed.

So that was what he did. The flashlight went in his mouth, but the MP5 was another problem. Both England and America had straps on their assault rifle and shotgun respectively, but his submachine gun had no such thing on it. This was a problem indeed.

Still holding onto his weapon, he pulled off to the side of the pit, reaching out and grabbing onto some rubble. This would be tricky, but he felt that he could pull it off. With that thought in mind, he extended his whole body out, and soon he was completely on the wall inside the entrance of the pit. Keeping his free hand anchored on the rubble, he reached up with his submachine gun ridden one and took hold of the debris just above him. Now came the tricky part. Using all of his strength, he managed to hoist himself upwards, and grabbed onto the small ridge just above that. So far so good. The hand with the submachine gun was still holding on just fine. For now.

What he discovered next completely disgusted him. It appeared as though the ridge was covered with some sort of sticky substance, and it was getting all over his free hand. Now not only were his clothes covered in grime, but his hand was as well. He bet that his other hand would soon join that one in its filthy quest. Just what was this pit covered in? That didn't matter. Thoughts of his self-image would only serve to distract him from what was more important.

The Frenchman managed to hoist himself up a few more feet before the nations below him finally seemed to realize that a member of their group was missing.

"France, are you climbing that thing all by yourself?!" He could hear England yelling out through the entrance.

He couldn't answer with the flashlight in his mouth, so he just kept going. He needed to keep focus on the task at hand, despite the filth of the pit covering him.

"Hey, maybe we should follow him. I want to try scaling that too!" France just barely heard America exclaim.

"We don't have a flashlight, you moron! How are we going to be able to see properly without one?" England replied.

France agreed with him. Hopefully they would both remain where they were until he could finish his climb. Then he would be able to shine the light down for them. England was freaked out enough as it was, so he doubted he would act so rash, but America on the other hand was not as hesitant. At least it appeared that England was managing to keep him grounded.

It seemed as though an hour had passed by before he finally neared an opening to B2. His entire upper body was beginning to ache from the climb, and he knew that his hand with the submachine gun would not hold on for much longer. In fact, it was slipping more and more as time went on. There were only a couple more feet he had to climb before reaching his destination, though. He couldn't give up just yet.

Though his hands were covered in the sticky substance that covered the entirety of the pit, they were still slick with his sweat. As if things weren't hard enough, his own body was beginning to betray him. The very thought of sweating disgusted him, but it was nothing compared to the hell the rest of his body and outfit had already gone through. Still, if this continued on, he knew that he was going to slip. It would be the hand with the submachine gun that slipped, too. It was exhausting out to the point that it was numb.

Maybe if he allowed himself to drop the weapon, either America or England would grab it for him. Of course, that was without giving them warning, and he was certain it would be hard enough to catch it in the dark even with knowing in advance. So what was he going to do? There wasn't much left that he had to traverse before reaching the opening to B2.

He would push on, that was what he would do.

Taking a deep breath, France raised his free arm up, reaching out towards the ledge above him. It was just barely out of his reach, but he didn't want to have to do anymore hoisting. If he extended himself out just a bit more, he could reach that opening. Pushing harder, his submachine gun grinding against the small ridge his lower hand was clinging onto, he could feel the very edge of the opening. With the last ounce of his strength, he gave a final push.

That's when disaster happened. The ridge his submachine gun was pushing against cracked, and his footing was immediately lost. Acting on fear and instinct, he latched onto the opening with his hand as quick as he could possibly manage. It wasn't enough, though. The sweat and grime on his hand, combined with his weight, was more than enough to cause him to lose his grip.

Without even giving it a second thought, France dropped his MP5 into the dark abyss below him, and flung up his second arm with all of his might. Once again, he just barely managed to latch his hand onto the ledge of B2. Still, he lacked the strength to hold onto the ledge with the sweat and grime covering him. Now that both hands were holding onto the ledge, he was at least able to find his footing once more. This was getting too dangerous. Using all of his lower body strength, France pushed himself up and finally managed to crawl into the safety of B2's opening. There he remained, collapsed on the ground, gasping in shock over his near fall.

The first thing he did was spit his flashlight onto the ground. How he hadn't managed to drop it along with his submachine gun was a mystery. It didn't really matter, though. France would much rather still have a weapon than a stupid flashlight on him. It appeared that now he would have to locate a new one. But first, he had to assist the other two nations with their climb. He bet anything that England would be even more unwilling to attempt the climb after seeing France's near miss.

From below, he could hear America yelling up at him. Through the shock and exhaustion, he knew he wouldn't be able to answer any time soon. Well, he shouldn't have been able to reply, but he did anyways.

Slowly, he rolled himself over. He leaned himself over the pit he had just risked his life to climb up.

"America, you hear me?" he gasped. After that climb, he still needed to catch his breath. He hadn't had the chance to do it earlier with that flashlight in his mouth.

"Yo, France! Did you make it?" the nation in question asked.

The Frenchman sighed. Of course he made it. "Yes. Are you two going to come up now?"

America hesitated before replying, "Well, I talked about it with England while you were risking your life like that, and he brought up a really good point."

Had England convinced him not to climb up the pit? After all of that work that France had just gone through? If that was the case, then he figured the man had done it on purpose. Have France risk his life and then have it be all for nothing. In fact, he bet England would now demand that he make his way back down. It was all probably revenge for pissing him off earlier.

Of course, they were always screwing each other over. They didn't both hate each other for nothing, after all.

"And just what did England say to you?" France finally asked.

"I asked him why we couldn't just walk up to this area in B1, and _then_ climb up the pit to F1. Why should we climb up it right now? It's less dangerous that way." England yelled back up to him.

Oh. Well, now France just wanted to smack himself over the head for that. Why hadn't he thought of that before?

"I don't know why you didn't think of that before. You _were_ the one who was complaining about common sense and logic before." France knew that England was down there with a smug smirk on his face. Now he was just trying to piss him off. At least the Frenchman did have one thing up his sleeve.

"In case you didn't notice, I lost my submachine gun while climbing up here," he mentioned. "That means that I'm unprotected right now."

"Your point is?" England replied.

France sat up and leaned against a nearby wall. The nation was lucky that they weren't even on the same floor anymore. "My point is that the longer I'm alone, the higher chance I'll have at being attacked. You both would get up here quicker if you just climbed. Then we can all walk up to B1 together!"

"And you can't just wait for us? It wouldn't be that much longer!"

"Of course not!" France scoffed. "You both would have to find this pit again once you managed to get to B2. And don't tell me you would have an easy time with that either, because we've missed this place multiple times already!"

There was silence from below. He figured that England was trying to come up with a response. Fortunately, the ever heroic America beat him to it.

"Okay! We can climb up there!"

"What?! No! You do realize that that moron up there nearly fell already, right?" England replied, aghast. Now that they were talking to each other, it was much harder for France to actually hear them.

"Well, he has a point!" America replied. "We can't just leave him up there unprotected!"

So with that, America began his climb, with England being unable to change his mind. Not wanting to be left alone in the zombie infested facility, he reluctantly followed after his bespectacled friend. Of course, with so many questionably bright nations climbing a rocky wall, it was only inevitable that one of them would fall off.

* * *

AN: So, in an attempt to be logical, France does something incredibly stupid. Also, this place continues to get more and more unrealistic with every chapter. To be honest, I'm not surprised. Not with the way I write, anyways. Despite all of this, I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Updates are probably going to slow down from here on out, due to the fact that I have to prepare for college and whatnot. I'd be ecstatic if you continued to put up with me, though! I enjoy your guys' support! Thanks for everything!


End file.
